Lucky
by rozethorngirl
Summary: Mark is lucky…or well no, he's not. But he is in love with his best friend. Mark/Chord


**Title:** Lucky  
**Genre:** Slash, Romance/Angst  
**Rating:** Explicit  
**Pairing:** Mark/Chord  
**Warnings:** Language, M/M Sex, Mentions Drug/Alcohol Use  
**Summary:** Mark is lucky…or well no, he's not. But he is in love with his best friend. Even though his best friend won't return the affections. So how does going home for the funeral of his Grandmother turn into a journey of self-discovery and accepting who you are?  
**Disclaimer:** Do not own Glee or anyone affiliated with it. Claim to have _**NO**_firsthand knowledge of the persons mentioned's personal life. This is _**NOT**_an accurate description of the persons mentioned _**IN ANY WAY.**_I am getting _**NO**_monetary payment for this. I am merely a fan getting shits and giggles out stretching their writing bones.  
A/N: The bromance between Mark and Chord is epic. And come on, they look insanely hot together. Not to mention, Chord only invited Mark out of everyone on the cast to Vegas to party for his Birthday? Yeah, it may be my slash goggles but I think there's more there lol. This will be told from Mark's POV, for the most part. And considering I'm a girl, telling a male's POV is difficult at times. I catch myself slipping into waxing kind of too poetic. But hopefully it's believable and you all like it. I am going to try and keep it as close to who know them to be as possible. Enjoy!

~M&C~

**Chapter 1**

"Bartender!" Mark called as he sat down on a stool, "I'll take a shot o'whiskey."

The man behind the counter gave him the unimpressed once over. "This isn't a Wild West movie, champ. Round these parts, a simple, 'Excuse me,' will suffice."

Mark resisted rolling his eyes. "Sour," he said with a distinguished bite, "_bartender_."

The man scowled and turned away to get his drink. Mark smirked and with a snicker turned to see the rest of the place he had stumbled into. It was a Monday night, so it wasn't exactly hopping with _that_ many people, but it was still relatively full. Full with people like him wanting to wash their sorrows away.

He was back home.

No.

Home-home.

Minileo, Texas, for his Nana's funeral, and drowning in the regret that has plagued him since he left ten years ago. Usually, when he's home, he doesn't go to places like this. Wanting to respect his mother's ideals that he's a perfect boy and Nana's beliefs that he could be. But on the plane over here he realized something: he wasn't perfect, and the little bottles American Airlines offer gives don't even make you buzzed.

And Mark wanted to be wasted for the next three solid days. Only then could he get through having to say his final goodbye. A goodbye that was way too soon.

"Man like you is one of two things," the woman sitting next to him said, putting a nearly empty martini glass to her lips.

Mark turned to her and ignored the bartender as he practically tossed his drink at him. "Really?" he replied suspiciously. "And what is that?"

She smirked as she turned to him – her mascara clumped around her eyes and lip stick slightly smudged, giving her a rather pathetic drunk look and feel that turned his nose up. "A man with troubles or a man with something to hide…and maybe soon to be troubles."

Her laugh made his skin itch and he turned back to his drink, downing what hadn't spilled. With a small wince from the burn he said, "No. I'm the third thing."

Her grimy smirk widened, "And what would that be?"

"Not. Interested," he told her with the same bite he gave the bartender.

This didn't deter her, however, in fact she laughed again; and over the sound of the music and murmurings of the other guests, she leaned over and whispered, "No, no, no. You're the fourth thing."

Mark actually did roll his eyes then, deciding that the woman must be a moron if his brush hadn't given her a clue.

"Gay," she said and laughed loudly, finishing her drink.

Mark sat stock still as she collected her stuff. "Wh-What?"

She turned back to him and rubbed her crap-filled eye, "Oh please," she giggled. "Could spot you as soon as you walked in. Did you really think you could hide from everyone forever? Not that you need to, but come on."

Mark looked around nervously. He wasn't out back home, except to his brother, and he didn't want word getting spread because that had gone done very badly when he came clean to Matt –

"Come now, honey," she shushed him, "Joyce here won't say nothin'. I know how these cowboys are with your folk. Trust me."

"Trust you!" he barked. It drew the attention of a few people and he quieted his tone, "Trust you? I don't even know you. Who are you?"

Joyce looked at him seriously. "I'm someone who is going to be your very best friend soon. Don't worry, child. Everything will work out."

Mark scoffed and pushed his empty glass away.

"You love someone, don't you?" she continued. "That why you're here in the Sippin' Shack, bitin' people's heads off?"

"No," he almost growled. "I'm here cause my grandmother died, and I need a drink. Is that a crime?"

"No. Not a crime. Just interesting." She waited a beat. "He said no, huh? Otherwise he'd be here."

Mark sucked in a breath. "Keep your voice down."

"He's your best friend," she nodded to herself. "Makes sense. Bet he's handsome."

"I'm not in love with Chord!" he loudly whispered back.

"That's his name?" she snickered. "That's unfortunate."

Mark bit his lip to keep from screaming at her, "Chord is a great name."

She smiled at him, "You'd think so. Wouldn't you?"

Mark chose not to respond.

"Look, sweetie, love and me? Never been close friends, per se; but I do know one thing: if it's love, it always prevails. He loves you too. So give it time, okay?"

Mark sighed and scratched at an invisible spot on the counter. "I'm not in love with him," he mumbled. "He's just always…there. And he's always been really nice to me, and considering my past it's refreshing. I don't know what love is, really. It's something everyone always talks about, but I've never had it. At least, not for anyone but Nan- " he turns back to the woman, only to be greeted with thin air, "-a."

He takes a quick look around and then shakes his head. Of course.

"Need another?" the bartender asks impolitely.

Mark ducks his head, "Yes. Please," he adds, hoping the karma of treating people nicely might actually come in handy the next few days.

It won't.


End file.
